A Game of Masquerades
by NotSoSilentWallflower
Summary: If Draco Malfoy magically succeeded in dropping dead, there would always be Lizandra Jane Gray. Beautiful, a Ravenclaw, and dangerously attractive, Harry knows that fifth year is not going to be easy.
1. First Impressions

_I'll never get to tell her how much I hate her."_

This whas the thought going through Harry Potter's head, upon realizing that he might die in the tiny underpass, being given a dementor's kiss. It was shocking that dementors had even showed up in Little Whinging, but that he would be thinking about _her_, moments before death, was nearly worse.

Her name was Lizandra Jane Gray. If he had to guess, she'd be about the same height as Hermione. She had a slender figure, long dirty blonde hair that seemed to hold a thousand different nuances, a smile that could light up the entire enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall, and eyes the colour of chocolate. Her face was heart shaped, and lovely he supposed, though he'd found himself wanting to damage it from time to time. She was a Ravenclaw, and too clever for her own good, and always seemed to find a way to prank him back. He wasn't really sure how it started, but there was no mistaking the hatred between them.

First year was when it all began. As if Quirrell, Snape, Voldemort himself and countless other terrible things weren't enough; the first day they bumped in to each other was the day he regretted years later. All the first years had been sorted into houses; Harry had enjoyed his first proper meal in years, and was led out of the hall, when he had collided with a tiny girl. They had both fallen to the floor, yet instead of letting him help her up, she had glared at his outstretched hand and swatted it away, getting up and leaving quickly, no doubt trying to catch up with her dignity.

They made classes a living hell for each other. It was clear that Lizandra was no muggle born, that much could be said when she had managed to whisper an incantation that nearly made Harry's quill poke him in the eye when he tried to levitate it. He had known immediately that it was her, judging by the smirk on her lips. He got her back that year, by sending Peeves after her, and she had been bombarded with ink, eggs, and he was pretty certain Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, had been used as ammunition once. He hadn't counted on it backfiring, when one day Peeves decided it would be more interesting to throw ink at him instead. And so, by the end of first year, Lizandra had won the first round of their private game.

Second year turned out to be just as bad. She had been at Flourish and Blotts with Draco Malfoy and his family, the same day that Harry had been there with the Weasleys. Gilderoy Lockhart had turned up, and made a big deal of joining Hogwarts as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and it had almost turned for the worse, when Lucius Malfoy had gotten in a row with Arthur Weasley. Lizandra had watched from the sidelines, no doubt conjuring up a plan that would get him in trouble during the school year. Sure enough, she had gotten him detention about half a dozen times with his "favourite teacher in all of Hogwarts". Around this time, Harry was seriously considering turning the Sorting Hat into a tea cosy for even letting Gray be sorted in the first place. He had gotten her back soon after though. The twins helped him sneak a potion in her drink during dinner when she wasn't looking, and no one understood why bubbles would escape her lips, every time she spoke. She had to be excused from classes for an entire week, and Snape the Unmerciful gave her two detentions as a result.

They would proceed to torture each other back and forth throughout the school year, but he only remembered half of the pranks. A lot of ink was involved. Things had however taken a strange turn, when Draco Malfoy dared to call Hermione a mudblood. Lizandra, who had overheard, had smacked him in the head with a book, calling him a slimy toad, while poor Ron had had a mishap with his broken wand. Harry noticed over the weeks to come that both of the girls had formed an unspoken agreement between them, like they had promised each other to stay out of each other's hair (which after all, they had a lot of). As for their private game, Harry won that year.

Third year turned even worse for both. Lizandra and Malfoy were often seen together (something Harry did not understand after the episode in the second year), but never romantically. They seemed to spend time together doing homework in the library, but that was the limit of it. It sometimes looked as though neither wanted to be seen with each other, but he figured he should let it be. After all, it was Gray and Malfoy; the two people he hated next after Voldemort.

A fourth person had decided to join the _people I hate _list that year, when it was discovered that Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban, and Harry had focused on channeling all his hate into other things, forgetting about the private game altogether. Dementors also seemed to take up a lot of his time, and he hardly noticed Lizandra all year, much to her annoyance, he was sure of it. She didn't let it show though, when he saw her at times. She was mostly sitting under the same tree all year, reading books.

He understood at once why Hermione was more or less acquainted with her.

Fourth year was when it had all gone to hell. As if running into Lizandra at the Quidditch World Cup match hadn't been enough, the riot had managed to set them up again, as Harry and Lizandra had full on collided with each other, just like the first year. Both had been quick to snap out of it, and Lizandra, now accompanied by Malfoy, had ran one way, Harry, Hermione and Ron the other. Back at the school, the Triwizard Tournament had been announced, and for once, Harry had seen Lizandra terrified on his behalf, when his name had been announced from the Goblet of Fire. Oddly enough, the memory didn't comfort him one bit. When the Yule Ball had been announced, he had wished to go back to the first task and battle the dragon all over again. Surely that would be easier than getting a date for the ball. Hermione however, had claimed she had the perfect fit for Harry, and promised him that he wouldn't be disappointed.

To his horror, it had turned out to be Lizandra, also set up by Hermione. That night, Gray and Potter had for once agreed on something, and Hermione had received more than one death glare during the ball. Dancing had been a nightmare to say the least: Harry was a terrible dancer, and kept stepping on her toes, genuinely feeling sorry for her. He was pretty sure he had seen Ron grinning from the sidelines. After the first dance was over, Lizandra had practically turned on her heel and disappeared running into the crowd as though garden gnomes were chasing her, gone for the rest of the evening.

Second task came and went, and for a while, everything between the two had seemed to cool down more or less. She let him be, and the other way around. Still, whenever he saw her face, it was obvious that she was worried about something. He had even asked Hermione about it once, but Hermione had simply shrugged, stating that even she didn't know what was going on. When the third task came around, he had spotted her face in the crowd of the onlookers, and she had given him tiny nod. Surprised, he had nodded back and went into the maze, barely making it out alive, as he would remember over the next month or two.

The nightmares were still haunting him, poking through his mind and lodging themselves in places where he couldn't pull them out, forever haunted by Cedric's face and the pain that seared through his forehead when Voldemort had touched him. When the portkey had returned, Harry was sure he had seen Lizandra shed a tear. Of course, it could have been the tears in his own eyes blurring his vision. It had been a sober goodbye to Hogwarts that year, going home in a haze. If memory served correctly, Lizandra had given him a sad look and even a small pat on the shoulder when passing him in the hallway.

And here he was, losing the battle with the dementor, fighting to keep his last breath. The voices were closing in around him: his mother screaming, the cackling laugh that went through every bone in his body, his father fighting to keep the family alive. He would never see Ron and Hermione's faces again. Never see _hers_. Something inside him stirred, and he knew that this was what he needed.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!" _ He roared, and the dementor dropped him as it was chased away by the white stag bursting from the tip of Harry's wand. Harry himself lay on the ground, gasping for his breath. And to imagine that it had been _her_ that had helped save him this time.

In reality, Harry James Potter had been in love with Lizandra Jane Gray since first year. There was no way in hell he was telling her that though. He'd rather go back to answering Gilderoy Lockhart's fan mail for a year.


	2. Privet Drive

Three figures had emerged from the darkness, and were making their way slowly down Privet Drive.

Only then did she allow herself to breathe properly, seeing that they were apparently safe. Looking out the window, she saw Harry Potter, a boar in a blonde wig he was supporting with his entire body, and her grandmother Arabella Figg making their way across the street to number 4, where Harry had lived with his aunt and uncle for fourteen years now. Her grandmother was talking animatedly to Harry, who was apparently a lot stronger than he looked. Dudley, the boar she only knew by name, was not. His face the size of a Christmas pig was turning a dangerous colour blue in the darkness, but that's not what caught her attention. Out of nowhere, Mundungus Fletcher had apparated, looking mighty pleased with himself.

Lizandra had never seen her grandmother this furious in her life.

After a good earful that must have gone on for at least 10 minutes, a rather shaky Mundungus disapparated, Harry managed to get Dudley inside number 4, and Mrs. Figg walked angrily towards number 7. She practically slammed the door, growling under her breath all the way to the sitting room, sitting down in a red plush looking chair.

"Would you like some tea?" Lizandra offered, not knowing what else to do in a time like this. Her grandmother waved this suggestion away with her hand. "No, my dear, I'm perfectly fine. Can't say the same for Mundungus Fletcher when I'm through with him", she added with murderous eyes, and Lizandra felt slightly afraid.

"At least Harry is safe", was all she could say as a response. They had found out about the dementors by coincidence. A loud SNAP had alarmed Lizandra, when she had been nearby an open window. Curiously, she had looked outside and seen nothing, but had had a terrible feeling in her gut that Mundungus Fletcher had disappeared from the scene, when he had promised to stay and look after Harry. Shortly after, no more than 20 minutes, the sky had darkened considerably, and the feeling of dread would not go away. Her grandmother had had the same feeling and disappeared out of the house in a hurry, coming back later with Harry and Dudley.

"Well, it is only a matter of time before the Ministry will change that", Mrs. Figg said, and went out in the kitchen to put the kettle on. Lizandra was used to this by now; her grandmother changing her mind every other minute was about as normal as the weather channel.

"But Harry didn't do anything wrong", Lizandra objected, getting up from the couch she was sitting on. She walked into the kitchen, where Mrs. Figg was busy tending to a little batch of biscuits, arranging them neatly on a plate. "It was a dementor wasn't it? Gran?" Mrs. Figg looked up at her granddaughter and gave a small nod, "Well, yes."

"But then it's obvious. It was self defence", Lizandra pressed on. She knew that breaking wizard law would get Harry expelled, but this had been a case of life and death, she was sure of it. "Dementors can't be seen by muggles, my dear. They won't care for what Harry has to say", said Mrs. Figg.

"It's not a valid point, and you know it."

"Of course I do. Problem is that they don't", Mrs. Figg answered, picking up the finished plate and carried it to the living room. "It'll only be a matter of minutes before Harry get's a letter", she said rather drowsily, and Lizandra knew it wouldn't be long until she would see an owl outside the house. Sure enough, not half a minute later, it showed, brown and fluffy, dropping off the letter through the letterbox in the Dursley house. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach. It would only be a matter of time before things would go wrong. But why did she care?

She had never particularly liked Harry Potter. Sure, he was handsome, tall, had a nice face and an honest heart, but that was where it stopped. As she had gotten to know him throughout the years, he had turned out to be slightly arrogant, annoying, and always brought danger with him. It was nice to see that she had brought danger with her for change, she had thought sarcastically, seeing as this was her first visit to her grandmother's house in years, and Harry had wound up being in danger already.

She had run into him the first day of school, right after the feast in the Great Hall, where she had been sorted into Ravenclaw. She was sure she would have gotten into Hufflepuff, thinking that she was cowardly and not worthy of any house. The Sorting Hat had obviously seen potential in her though, as it had cried out the house name, and Lizandra had smiled and sat down next to Cho Chang, a second year student. After the collision outside the Great Hall, Harry had politely tried to help her get up, but something inside her had snapped, and she had left him without looking back. She knew it was because she was blaming him.

Her parents had died when she was five. In fact, practically everyone from her mother's side of the family, and a few on her father's as well, had either died or vanished over the years. The only family she knew was her grandmother, and her great grandfather Ebeneezer: a very old wizard that helped raise her. He had helped with a bit of home schooling until Hogwarts, but never really seemed to care much for her, perhaps because most of the family was dead and gone, and he was reminded of it through her.

It was Harry's ignorance that grew throughout the years that made her hate him. At first, their private game was consisting of pranks, but as the years came and went, and he overcame obstacle after obstacle, his behaviour towards everything changed. Mostly, she noticed that he, apart from hanging out with only two people most of the time, didn't seem to mind much that he was famous.

He forgot about the private game during third year, battling dementors and Sirius Black instead, and although she had been genuinely frightened for him, she had also felt a stirring deep inside her, something she hadn't recognised right away. She had quickly pushed the feeling back, not wanting to wallow in it, and instead focus on the fact that he didn't even know how many lives had been sacrificed for him without him knowing. It is almost impossible to talk sense into a child once they've set their mind on something. Lizandra's mind had once been set on letting Harry know just how much she had suffered on his account. After all, her parents had once been part of the Order of the Phoenix. Of course she knew later that it wasn't really Harry's fault, but that hadn't stopped her from hating him. Old habits die hard.

Looking out the window, she noticed that another owl had shown to deliver a letter, no doubt the authority trying to sort the mess out. With a sigh, she went into the living room, where her grandmother was watching a cooking program on the television, seemingly absorbed in the many different uses of oregano. She walked over and leant down to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Goodnight, gran", she muttered, waking Mrs. Figg of her trance long enough to turn around and give a 'goodnight' response, before turning the attention back to the cooking program. Lizandra smiled when walking up the stairs.

Her grandmother was a Squib, and oddly comfortable with it, even if other family members hadn't been. She had told Lizandra stories of how they had been ashamed of her, demanded she go into hiding, but her grandmother had stood her ground, and was now living the life in the muggle word, perfectly happy being 'one of the people'.

She reached the guest room, and quickly went inside and shut the door. Everything was the same as she had left it last: the bed with its blue and green pattern sheets, and the desk with a photograph of her parents sitting comfortably on top. She went over and picked up the frame, staring into the familiar faces with a smile. Her mother's beauty never faltered, and her father would never grow old. They would forever be the most handsome couple she had ever set eyes on.

She had stopped crying over them long ago. She felt pain, absolutely, but the tears had stopped over time. There had been days, when she had decided to have a day alone, all to herself, and had snuck through corridors until reaching a safe place where she could be spend the rest of the day in peace, letting her emotions run free.

The night was starting to spread its dark covers over the neighbourhood, and stars were beginning to show. She found a crimson blanket to draw over her, walking over to the window to draw the curtains closed, when she happened to look over across the street at number 4. Harry was standing by his window, looking over at her curiously, and she knew it was because he hadn't seen her before. She had made sure to visit her grandmother the previous years when he hadn't been around. For a second they both stood there, surprised to see each other. Did he recognise her? No, he couldn't possibly, not from a distance like this one. Still she drew the curtains shut in a swift motion, hoping that he hadn't seen who she was. That was all she needed tonight: Him marching across the street and demanding to know what she was doing in Little Whinging.

She stood there, looking at the curtains, through the white transparency at Harry. He was still standing there, looking at the same spot where she had disappeared, not moving. Had he really seen her, and known who she was? Is that why she was able to make out the confused expression on his face?

He stood there for another second or two, until finally turning around rather half heartedly, and disappearing out of sight. She released a breath, she didn't realise she had been holding. Hell would break lose again if he found out she was here. She didn't want to fight him, not anymore. It all seemed pointless now that You-Know-Who was back. She hadn't doubted him for a second when he had returned with Cedric Diggory's dead body, about two months ago, claiming that the dark lord had returned. It was the only possible explanation for the chaos that was beginning to erupt. A tear had escaped her that night, upon remembering what her parents had died for. It was starting all over again. She could feel it in her heart.

Soon, chaos would erupt, people would die, and the magical world would never be the same again.

She couldn't stop the dread from spreading through her, and decided it would be best to go to sleep and forget. Grabbing the framed photograph she crawled up on the bed under the blanket, placing the photograph next to her. It gave her odd sense of comfort that her parents were watching over her as she slept, as if they had merely left on vacation, and would be back before long. Wishful thinking had never gotten her far, even though she was a witch, and a rather powerful one at the age of 14, but she had never stopped hoping to be reunited with her parents again one day. It would be decades, but she could wait that long. For them, she would wait forever.


End file.
